Quills and Paintbrushes
by Madame Wolf
Summary: Remus writes what he knows. Ginny paints what she sees. Books, tea, furniture and drugs. It's hard work being "arty".
1. Arty Lane

**Disclaimer**: I own this*. All of this is mine**. Please send me money***.  
*That is incorrect. **J.K.R and Warner Bros. own it. ***I don't need money. I have a discman :)

**Quills and Paintbrushes**

Arty Lane

I woke up. Always a good sign. When a girl drinks a few beers and smokes some of Simon's "wacky tobaccy", she starts to wonder about her safety and the possibility of not actually waking up the next morning. As it was, I did wake up but I had, unfortunately, lost all my limbs. Oh wait. Partial truth. They were in the same place I had left then, but were lost under the bodies of seven people piled on top of my bed and me. I started kicking and waving my arms wildly, trying to escape the writhing mountain of people. The said people were muttering sleepy protests at my flailing which appeared to be giving them both boo-boos and ouchies.

'Alright.' I said as I managed to free myself. I was crouching near my pillow, holding my reading matter menacingly. 'I have a hardcover book and I'm not afraid to use it.' There was no response to my truly terrifying threat. I saw one of my roommates' face under someone's armpit, so I held her nose until she woke up with much gasping and choking.

'Gah!' She cried, batting away my hand. 'Ginny? What is it? What's wrong?'

'Right.' I replied, quite unimpressed. 'Without telling me, of course, or bothering to wake me up?'

'Well, it was late…'

I rolled my eyes. Julie was not known for her wit. Think charitable thoughts, think charitable thoughts. No such luck. 'Get them out of here.' I told her through gritted teeth. I loved privacy more than anything else in the world. Well, maybe apart from sarcasm.

She got into action, and people started opening bleary eyes and moving into other areas of the house. They all gave me sheepish looks as they walked out the doorway. It could be because I gave them death stares and was mentally adding them to my "People to send chain letters to" list. When the final person disappeared, I had a short shower, mindful of the two other people attempting to live with me, and threw some clothes on. When I came into the kitchen, Julie and Simon were drinking coffee with an expression of utter bliss.

'Coffee.' Simon said and handed me my mug. I accepted it and sat at the counter, breathing in the aroma and warmth. Julie had told the truth: the heating was out and it was fucking cold. My fingers wrapped around the mug and I shivered into my oversized black jumper.

'I have run out of creativity.' I announced to no one in particular. My flatmates did not bat an eyelash. They did not even look up from their own morose contemplations of the black swirliness that is coffee. 'That's it. I'm completely out of ideas. I have no inspiration.' This was, of course, all said in a light and conversational tone. It was no problem, really. I just planned on being an artist for a living.

'Creativity is overrated.' Simon told me in his space-cadet voice. He always seemed a million miles away, which, considering the suspicious looking packet he hides in his underwear draw, does not seem that far fetched.

'Of course you'd say that.' I replied acidly. 'You're a language major.'

He shrugged, not really all that concerned. Julie was more concerned, having barely scraped through her music course. This was mostly due to the fact that she was a little friendlier to the Professor than the Dean would have liked. 'That's awful, Gins.' She told me.

'Don't call me Gins.'

'Don't call me Jules.'

'I don't.' I stuck my tongue out at her.

'Oh.' Shaking her head, she went back to her previous train of thought. 'What you need to do is get out of the apartment.'

I gave her a mean little smile. I wasn't always mean. I was just very cranky at the moment with the lack of sleep and single coffee. 'A splendid idea. I'm broke. You're broke. The only reason we still have this apartment is because I occasionally sell a painting. Which, as you would have gathered if you paid attention, is going to be stopping in the near future due to lack of creativity.'

'Oh.' She frowned. 'That is a problem.'

'I pay the bills too.' Simon protested.

I patted his shoulder. 'I know you do, sweetie. I'm just grumpy.' I let out a heavy sigh as I looked around the apartment. Everything felt stale and stuffy. Julie was right. I did need to get out. 'I think I might go for a walk.'

They nodded in agreement, wrapped up in their own thoughts. I put my untouched coffee down and picked up my coat. It was freezing.

Outside, snow and ice covered the footpath and since most of the people living in the apartment block were either students, too lazy or both, it remained a hazard for pedestrians such as myself. I found myself walking down the street with my hands in my pockets and my eyes on my feet, watching them move past the concrete.

Shops and houses were boarded up from the cold and there were few people on the street. The few people who were insane enough to want to venture out of the relative warmth were rushing by me, not giving me a second glance. I did not give them a second glance either, and the system worked. I bought myself some shockingly bad coffee from a service station after forgetting why I made my own in the first place. The coffee and I walked up to Arty Lane.

Arty Lane is obviously the name I gave it in my wanderings, and it usually supplies me with paper, paintbrushes, paint, graphite, books and other things I need to be a total artistic wanker. The people who worked there lived in the same sort of way I did; bohemian and without giving a shit.

The shops were open and there were people like me moseying along, looking at what was on sale and having short-lived conversations with their friends. I liked watching people, in a non-pervy way that is, and I indulged in my pleasure before moving on to become a part of the crowd.

My favourite art supply store was open, but I really did not need anything new. The owner showed me a new set of brushes that I decided I needed to purchase, and I made a mental note to come back when I next had money. He was a wizard, like many on the street, and we shared secret smiles over the way the Muggles exclaimed about some of the artwork obviously done by magic. I continued on my way.

The bookshops were usually my next stop, but many had closed due to the damp. I thought this was a lie since they would be open every time it rained. Bookshop owners were a lazy bunch and just liked the idea of a sleep in. If I lost my creativity for good, I want to own a bookshop.

One was open, and I had not been inside. I had not even noticed it before, which, considering my passion for observing, came as a shock. I opened the door and heard the familiar twinkle of the bell as I entered. Inside, it held the same smell I was used to smelling in book stores, that lovely almost musty scent of old paper and genius.

The decor was simple and unassuming and there were no chairs in the middle of the floor to catch me unawares. The books lined the walls and shelves and any other surface for that matter. There were many, many books. Most of them were second hand, but there were a few that appeared to be new. I looked around for a few minutes before being approached by the management.

'Professor Lupin?' I asked, raising an eyebrow. I had the distinct feeling I had asked the same question many times before, always in a different and yet somehow memorable way. 'You work in a bookshop now?'

He shrugged. 'Being a werewolf is not very profitable. I do not recommend it. If you do have the misfortune of turning into a werewolf, open a book store. It's less noticeable and people expect that sort of thing from someone who owns a book shop.' I nodded in agreement. It sounded perfectly logical. 'Well, now that I've interrupted your shopping, do you need me to help you find something?'

'A cure for lack of creativity/talent/inspiration?' I asked hopefully.

He gave me a knowing smile. 'Ah.' Lupin placed the books he was carrying down on an almost empty shelf. 'Tea it is.' With his hands now free, he motioned for me to follow him behind a curtain. Apart from feeling like I was going into an alternate dimension or something similar, nothing happened from being on the wrong side of the divider.

'Does tea help?'

'No, but it is delicious.' He tapped the kettle with his wand and poured the hot water into mugs with teabags in them. 'Strong, I imagine?'

I nodded. 'I'm a coffee girl.'

I saw him grin as he hovered over the cups for a few moments. He handed me one with a cow on it and I took a sip. It was very hot and rather nice. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome.'

We sat in silence, not sure what to say. He was my old Professor, and a family friend. I had not spoken to him in a few years but that was because I had not spoken extensively to many of my family members recently. I liked being able to be independent and to be myself. 'Been in the book store game long?' I asked him eventually.

'A few months. It has its ups and downs.'

I nodded again. 'I'm an artist. I do paintings, drawings… that sort of thing.'

'I write.'

We absorbed this information. Lupin was a writer? Well, it certainly explained a few things. I could see him acting like I was now, feeling lethargic and like a complete and utter waste of space because he could not finish a paragraph. He tapped his mug with his fingertips. 'Writer's block is a bitch.'

I was mildly surprised hearing Lupin swear. He was meant to be the role model your parents approved of. Apparently he was badass at times. If using the word "bitch" could be considered "badass". 'If it is anything like not being able to draw, I imagine it would be.'

Lupin sipped his tea. 'What you need to do is take a friend to a furniture store.' I raised an eyebrow. Furniture stores aren't, as a rule, stores with high levels of creative energy. He continued. 'It worked when I was out of ideas. It might not work for you, but if you're as desperate as you appear…'

I shrugged my shoulders, feeling the heavy coat I had yet to take off. Lupin's store was only mildly warmer than outside and still merited the jacket. 'Well, it's a plan and more than I had.' I drank the rest of my tea, almost burning my tongue in the process. 'I might be off then.'

He nodded. 'Good. Pop by and tell me how it went.'

I placed the cup on his sink. 'Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks for the tea and the suggestion.'

Lupin smiled at me, and I walked through the curtain. There was a couple snuggling up near the travel section, hands around each other's waist and looking deliriously happy. Sometimes I wonder if I would ever be that happy, and then I remember that being that happy doesn't look that good to me or anyone else. They acknowledged my presence and went back to inspecting the titles on the shelf. Such are the people at Arty Lane.

The walk home was cold, and the snow had melted somewhat so it made my shoes damp. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and huddled into my cloak from the biting wind, not afraid to look like I was hiding something. Warmth is far too important to care about appearances. Someone had cleaned up the sidewalk and I felt sorry for that someone because I was willing to bet they had not been paid decently - if at all.

Simon and Julie had left the door unlocked, and when I walked in it was still as cold as when I had walked out. In fact, the only difference was that they were no longer sipping coffee on the counter and had moved to the couch to wear every item of clothes in their wardrobe. They looked like refugees at a jumble sale with the range of colours and styles adorning their bodies.

'Ginny.' Simon said in welcome.

'Simon.' I replied and walked over to the heating. They were too lazy to bother getting someone to fix it, so I was left to do it using magic. Julie knew I was a type of witch. There was something about finding a jar of bat toes in the cupboard she felt was a tad weird. She thought I was into that whole pagan thing. She wasn't too sure on that either, and asked if I was going to be sacrificing a pig any time soon. Her tactfulness knows no bounds.

Neither were looking, but when I inspected the furnance, I decided I'd do things the Muggle way and not get in trouble by simply turning it on again.

'Wow, you're handy.' Julie told me, noticing the improvement in temperature.

'Yeah, I certainly am.' I checked the clock and realised I had only been out for an hour and a half. Life always seemed to trickle by when I wasn't holed up in my room with paintings to complete. Julie was counting the fine hairs on the back of her hand and did not seem to be doing anything exceptionally useful. 'We need to buy a … uh… a coffee table.'

'We have a coffee table.' Julie complained.

'It is a plank of wood across bricks and I did it as a statement of the human condition.' I told her touchily. 'We need a real coffee table, and you're helping me look for one. You were the one to break the last one.'

She went a little red. 'How was I meant to know the maximum weight was fifty kilos?'

'Well, common sense usually pops up when you ask yourself if trying to have sex on a coffee table is a good idea.' I said and began walking out the door. 'I fixed the heating. You're coming.'

Julie followed me out the door with little fuss after that and we found our way to a creepy looking furniture shop with people who smiled like statues and the sort of furniture you'd find at your grandmother's house. We walked around, looking at ugly couches and chicken lamps and being thoroughly disgusted.

'This has to be the worst furniture shop ever.' Julie said, making me grin. 'I mean who in their right mind would want to buy a quilted fridge cover?'

'Simon would but you know what he's like when he's been into the pot.' We chuckled at our flatmate's expense. 'I don't want to touch, let alone buy, anything in this place. Let's see the one around the corner.'

Julie agreed and we exited the shop, much to the disappointment of the flighty staff who had followed us around. Snow was falling and catching on sleeves and hair, looking very poetic as it did. Julie noticed her Doc Martens had an untied shoelace, and went down to tie it up again. My breath caught in my throat as I saw her, balancing on her haunches, trying to fix her shoelace. Her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth, and I told her to stay like that so I could draw her.

'That's not fair, Ginny!' She complained, almost falling onto her backside. 'It's cold and wet and I might fall over.'

'It's a risk I'm willing to take.' I announced and quickly drew the preliminary sketches. I could paint it later, or get her to stand in the same position if need be. Julie was a push over for the most part. 'All right, get up.'

I lent her my hand so she did not need to get her backside wet, and with much exaggerated brushing of snow, she was ok and ready to roll. 'We don't need a coffee table.' I told her as I looked over the sketch.

'But I thought you said our coffee table was a comment on the human condition?'

'It can be both.' I said as I began to walk down the street. 

  


***

  
**Author's Note**: Hi, 'tis Madame Wolf here. No, The B Word isn't frozen again. It just going through some interesting stages involving my friend Jenn (Astrid-the-Oh-So-Mighty). This is going to be a slow, painful journey because I haven't done one of those in while. There don't seem to be any "normal" get together Remus/Ginny fics out there, so here is one. It may be a bit boring, but hey. It's normal. Until the plot bunnies get me. Egads! Thank you **Iselin** for your work :) 


	2. Danger by Moonlight

**Danger by Moonlight**

The wind was worse than it had been the other day, and when you are carrying a bulky item like, oh, a painting of your flatmate squatting in the snow, it is hard to protect yourself from it. I tried to huddle into my coat, but I only had one hand, so it failed miserably and my cheeks were red by the time I made it to Arty Lane. I had money in my pocket this time, but I had to pay bills so I would have to paint another meaningless piece to sell to a rude American tourist so I could buy the devastatingly good paintbrushes I wanted.

Lupin's shop was open for business, and as I opened the door, a chime announced that he had a customer. The man himself was hiding in fantasy, and he scurried out when he heard the bell. I noticed that he looked better fed than when I saw him, and I vaguely remembered there being a full moon days before my last visit. The human mind works in mysterious ways.

'Miss Weasley.' He said in a relatively warm tone. Everything seems warm when you compare them to the weather outside, and his voice was warmer still. 'Am I to assume that my technique worked at that what you hold in your hand is a piece of priceless art?'

I smiled. 'You are to assume that your technique worked to a certain degree and what I hold in my hand is a piece of work I wish to give to you for said technique.'

He raised an eyebrow and motioned me to unwrap the painting from its prison of paper and plastic. I opened it like a present on Christmas morning, and showed him the product of visiting a furniture shop with my stunning yet equally brainless roommate. Lupin looked over it before nodding slightly and taking it from my hands. 'Thank you. I like it.'

'Good. Julie hates it.'

'Julie would be...?'

'My flatmate. The girl in the picture.'

He shrugged. 'Oh course she would. She doesn't look as graceful as girls usually want to appear, yet she still looks beautiful.' Lupin was looking at his walls, probably surveying them for good places for artwork.

'My yes.' I replied. Julie possesses the worst combination a girl can have: looks and naivety. She stumbles through life without having to work because she can't, and gets taken advantage of far too often. She doesn't care though because she doesn't know any different. It would take too much work on my behalf to change this, and then I would have screwed her over because she wouldn't be able to allow herself to go down to those levels.

'I think this needs to hang over by the classic literature shelves.' He announced, and I followed him as he walked over to see if it was possible. 'Magic is a most useful tool.' Lupin said with a grin, and I gave him one back, thinking over the times I had resorted to magic to get my own way. With a few well-chosen words, he had the painting securely fastened to the wall.

'Tea?' he asked, and I accepted. If I kept visiting Lupin, I would convert to the dark side of tea and carrot cake.

We walked past the divider again, and sat down at his table. We were in his kitchen, because he lived above the shop. There were a few dirty dishes in the sink, and the newspaper from this morning rested on the table, awaiting someone to open it and read the scandals inside. He tapped the kettle again and poured the hot water into the cups to prepare the tea, and soon the delicious smell of tea filled the air.

'Do you mind me asking what you have written?' I asked him over the brim of a fresh cup. My nose was getting warm from the steam, and I didn't mind.

'Go ahead. Ask.' He gave me an almost-smirk and I repeated the question. 'I wrote a horror book. You know what they say. Write what you know. It sold quite well. I always thought it was too realistic and gruesome to be allowed on shelves where children could buy it. But then I remembered I was a child too once, and I decided to write an extra bloody scene. Just for the little child in my mind who bought it hoping for some violence, or better yet, sex.'

I smiled again. His voice was getting warmer, unlike the tea in my cup which was getting closer to a drinkable temperature the longer he talked. 'So you were a pervy little child who enjoyed books about werewolves chomping on couples doing it?'

He set his cup down. 'Indeed I was.'

We both thought this was funny, so we chuckled and drank small sips of tea. Not enough for our tongues to burn. 'I was a dark and boring child.' I told him, which made him raise an eyebrow. He wanted more information. 'There was the whole bullshit with Tom Riddle and then all the kids in my year ignored me for a bit, but after that I was OK. I wasn't the same, though, but who would be? I took up painting after dating Dean Thomas in my fifth year. He was good, and he told me it helped him stop stressing about exams. It works.'

'I get the same way when it comes to writing. When I can write, that is.' He added the last bit as if an after thought.

'I would love to read your book.' I said wistfully. He would probably never let me. If I wrote, I would hate to show anyone who knew me even remotely. It is so private and, considering it is from his personal experience, he would either have to be used to having his life inspected, or in a "not giving a damn" mood.

He pushed a battered paperback in front of me without a word. The cover was bent back, and most of the pages were dogged, but I could read that it said _Danger by Moonlight_. 'Is this it?' I asked, picking up the book and looking at the blurb.

'Yes. That's the thing about being published. They put it in book form.'

I gave him a half-laugh and read the back of the book aloud: 'Robert Franks is a polite, honest and hardworking high school teacher. He enjoys the occasional drink, his women leggy and red-headed and every other night but the full moon. "_Danger by Moonlight_ is terrorising. Linton creates a jewel in the usual bloody horror market." "...breathtaking and so life-like it hurts..."' I put the book next to the tea cup. 'So, the name John Linton appeals to you, does it?'

'John's my middle name. Linton is from _Wuthering Heights_. When I wrote it I seriously doubted any student of mine to have read _Wuthering Heights_, or to connect it to me.' He gave me a look that defied me to say otherwise.

'I've read _Wuthering Heights_...' I murmured softly. 'I didn't know your middle name was John, so you were half right.'

'It appears so.' Conversation lulled. We sipped. We looked at the book and the table. I inspected my fingernails and decided I should probably leave. 'I might go now.'

He stood up this time. 'It was nice having you here. Thanks for the painting.'

'Thank you for the book.' I slipped it into my bag and made my way to the door.

'Miss Weasley.' He said, and I turned around. 'If you ever need a job, you know, if the people on the street are being less culturally aware than usual, then you can always ask me for one. I do all the packing and shelving and serving here, and when it is busy I could always use a salesgirl.'

I smiled at the offer. 'Thank you, Professor. I appreciate it.' I looked outside on the street where people were walking straight by a musician singing her heart out. Few even stopped to hear her for free, and even less placed money in her hat. I sighed, as if I was looking at me with stands of painting and no money in my wallet. 'I might have to take you up on it too.'

'No rush.' He assured me, and I gave him one last look before heading outside. I had not realised how comfortable I had been until I walked into the wind and the street.

* * *

'Home again.' I said to Simon. He was playing with spoons in the kitchen. Julie was out for some reason and we had the house to ourselves. I put my bag down and decided to make some toasted sandwiches, which was the staple diet in our house. We bought loaves of bread, milk, cheese and ham and lived on that for a week.

'I have to tell you something.' Simon said.

'I'm all ears, Si.' I announced and I searched in the cupboards for the salt.

'I can't remember.'

'Not a good idea.' I buttered the bread thickly and placed it on the steaming hot sandwich toaster. Grated cheese came next and then the meat. 'You can't remember any of it?'

He shook his head. 'It had something to do with Julie and money.'

'She didn't take money out of my drawer, did she?'

'No, no.' He hit the spoons on the bench in frustration.

'Calm down Simon.' I told him. 'Julie can tell me as soon as she gets back.'

We sat and watched the cheese bubble on the sandwich maker, and my mouth watered as smells poured out. Simon played with the spoons some more, coming up with a few decent rhythms. When they were cooked, I had them on a plate and we dug in.

I had one in my stomach before Julie came through the door, looking excited and cold. She sat down at the table and took a sandwich, not even saying "Hello", or "May I have one?"

'Where have you been?' I asked, mildly curious, especially after Simon's memory failure.

'The street. I was working.' She gave me a toothy smile and I took a deep breath.

'Do you remember that talk we had a while back about bringing men to the flat and getting paid for having sex?' I had to say it in careful tones. The first time was awful enough without having to go through it again.

'No, no. I was singing.' She produced a handful of coins and notes from her pocket and placed them on the table in front of me. At an educated guess, I could see that she had about five pounds thirty. 'I've been singing since twelve and they gave me money for it.'

'You sang for four hours and got five pounds? Well done.'

'Thanks Ginny!' She said happily, biting into her sandwich.

'I think I may have to take Lupin up on his offer.' I muttered to myself. Simon had found a great excitement in the spoons again, and Julie was counting her money proudly. Neither one of them knew what I was going on about, nor had any interest in finding out.

Being a struggling, yet amazingly beautiful and talented, artist was less lucrative than I had first imagined. That was a lie. I knew it would be tough, but I was too lazy to do something better. I loved painting and I loved my roommates even if I was a little too sarcastic at times. At all times. I loved my room with the paint bespeckled floor and the cheap stereo I bought to listen to music. I wanted to live like this, but I needed more money to keep living like it.

Lupin. He had a bookstore. I wouldn't lose my arty title and I could have fun anyway. I also loved reading, and he was good company. I would have to investigate his earlier life and see if he had ever lived like me, which I suspect he did. He was good company and had a good sense of humour. They met my standards.

I cleared my plates and went into my room. The door was locked, my shelves were full of paint and there was a blank canvas awaiting me. My stereo (a Muggle invention) was silent, but I had no desire to turn it on at the moment. I didn't think I had it in me to paint. I was devoid of all emotion and inspiration, but it would only be a temporary thing, I could feel it. Creativity was skulking in the shadows of my mind; I just needed to be patient.

It was impossible for me to be patient, but I could pretend I was being patient by reading the book Lupin had written. I took it out of my bag, threw my bag over into the corner, and opened the book. My bed was bloody uncomfortable, so I spent a few moments fussing over the covers, and then I got back to reading.

I opened the book to a random page. It was about the middle of the book and as good a part of it to see if I could get hooked. I did it far too often, but it usually led to me buying or borrowing the book. If I could read a random page, I would be able to read the book.

"_Blood. It tasted like nothing else I'd ever eaten before. It was chocolate and wine and the best steak all rolled into one. I wanted to swim in it, to devour the entire body whole and gorge myself on the blood. My instincts told me _'No'_, so I ate my full and continued. Snow paved the ground, making the walk easy on my paws, and I floated down the street, a ghost. Smells met my nose, and I followed them. I was so excited, I was skittish. A child in a toy store."_

My fingers flicked back to the start. So. Lupin _could_ write. That bookstore of his was looking better and better with every word I read.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you to **Iselin** once more. You are my favourite beta reader in the entire world :)

**Echo256: **Thank you :). I shall!

**PyroGurl4: **I updated on the GROWL site because I was so discouraged over the lack of interest this fic generated. I commend you on your stick-to-it-ivness.

**Iselin: **Thankies m'dear. I do love this fic. I don't know why. It just makes me feel all warm and squidgy inside like a half-cooked muffin.

**Sir Crig: **Thank you Sir :) I also commend you on your abilities in scrubbing green paint off yourself!

**s.s.harry: **Thank you for liking my story. I like the fact you like my story. I have written more. Enjoy. (Unless you read it on GROWL, in which case...I have no idea what happens then)

**Kristine: **Hey, don't bag out the butt, man! The butt holds a special place for me as a person. I suppose Ginny needs to get out more ;). Anyway, thanks for reviewing!


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